


Education

by ladybonehollows



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Flirting, M/M, first year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 21:17:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20198326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybonehollows/pseuds/ladybonehollows
Summary: Eliot fumbles a spell. Quentin offers to help.





	Education

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OfTheDirewolves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfTheDirewolves/gifts).

> Written for OfTheDirewolves as a thank you for her donation to Covenant House as a part of the Drabbles4Jason project. Check out the twitter for information on how you can donate.

Ignoring the eyerolls of the handful of students as he shooed them away, Eliot reclined on the couch, took a sip of his elderflower martini, and hummed in satisfaction. He had a free afternoon, and the common room was just the right amount of busy — enough people for him to tune out to the low hum of conversation, not enough that he was at risk of being bothered, and a pretty Quentin Coldwater to watch across the room.

It shouldn’t amuse him so much to watch someone read a damn children’s book, but Quentin's face was so expressive that it felt like Eliot was along for the adventure as well, his whole _face_ lighting up when he smiled, and —

Was it hot in here all of a sudden, or was it just him?

A few of the other students had raised their heads. The temperature in the room _had_ risen, just a few degrees, and Eliot sighed in frustration. The spells keeping the Cottage at a comfortable temperature had started failing, and he hadn’t managed to find the time (or the effort) to reset them properly. It was easier to adjust the heat as it malfunctioned, and worry about fixing it later.

Floating his glass above him, he worked his hands through the tuts lazily — and wasn't surprised when the temperature spiked higher, considering the complete lack of effort that he’d put into the casting. Usually magic poured through him easy as breathing, but apparently today's fingerwork was too haphazard, even for him. Bemused, he sent the glass over to the coffee table and sat up.

“Your wrist is at the wrong angle.” Eliot looked up, hiding his surprise to see Quentin looking at him from the other couch. “And your index and middle fingers weren’t bent enough.”

_Puppy thinks he knows best, does he?_ Delighted, Eliot worked his expression into a concentrated frown instead, bending his wrist and twisting his fingers too far. “Like this?”

"No, uh —" Marking his page, Quentin moved to stand in front of him, holding his hands out between them. "It's like this."

His tuts were smoother than Eliot expected, although that wobble in his little finger right at the end would mean that the spell would wear off after a day or two. Eliot frowned again, twisting in his seat as though trying to picture it from the different angle. "Can you…?"

Nodding, Quentin took a seat on the couch next to him, leaving a few inches between them. Eliot slid closer until their thighs pressed together. "Ready?" Quentin asked.

"Just go slowly."

Quentin glanced at him sideways, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. _Gotcha._ "O-okay."

Eliot copied Quentin's careful hand movements precisely until the third Popper, where he let his fingers straighten and his wrist bend in the same lazy gesture as earlier.

_Hotter_.

Quentin shifted in his seat.

"That's — no, that's still not it." Quentin's brow furrowed in confusion.

Eliot shrugged. "It's not my fault Sunderland decided to teach us weather alteration after the solstice party. That hangover lasted a week." Sighing, he raised his hands again. "Okay —"

"No —" Quentin reached out to grab his wrist. "_That_ angle is going to blow up the _Cottage_, Eliot. You have to —"

Leaning over him, Quentin laid his hands over Eliot's, bending their fingers together. Eliot held his breath, not daring to move lest Quentin realise just how close they were, half of his body pressed flush up against his side, his face so close that if he just turned his head...

Neither of them had cast, but Eliot's skin tingled with heat.

"Show me," Eliot breathed, and felt Quentin still.

His hands were smaller than Eliot's, but he still did a fair job of guiding his through the tuts. He leaned back on the couch, and this time, Eliot let his fingers move correctly. A few seconds later the temperature dropped to a more comfortable level. Eliot took a moment to compose himself before turning to Quentin with a playful smirk that was safer than the blend of desire and fondness that was dancing around in his stomach. "My hero," he said dramatically, and then, _Oh no,_ he thought, at Quentin's pleased little smile and the flush of his cheeks. "I'm sure there's something I can teach you to make it up to you."

Quentin's eyes widened, and Eliot stepped back into his comfort zone.

"Um, maybe later," Quentin said, standing up so quickly he almost stumbled over the coffee table. Eliot caught his martini glass before it tipped and floated it over, watching Quentin over the rim as he took a sip. All of his painfully endearing desire to be helpful had slipped back into awkwardness. Eliot couldn't decide which he liked better. "I'll um — later," Quentin mumbled, careening around the table and grabbing his book before running up the stairs.

When Eliot realised he was still smiling after him a full minute later, he downed the rest of his drink.


End file.
